Torch the Wood of the Supernatural
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: After the death of a friend and the sudden decline of Monsters, Dean decides to get out of 'the family business'. His plan turns to dust when he gets a mysterious call and visit from a man who calls himself Captain Jack Harkness.
1. Chapter I

**a/n:**

**Torch the Wood of the Supernatural**

**CHAPTER I**

Dean looked around Bobby's house; everything boxed up and packed—all except for his desk.

It had been about six months since Bobby had died—natural causes believe it or not—liver disease. Dean still couldn't believe it; he had always thought that Bobby would live forever, but then again he had always thought that his Dad would too. Just like he believed that he, Sammy and Dad would always be together and that they would be happy—but again Sam had left for Harvard plenty of years ago.

There was nothing left here for Dean anymore, this life he had had was no longer his. The Singer Salvage was just a sad reminder of the hectic life he had lived, one that he had six months before disowned; that was why he had been looking for a buyer for the Yard, and that was why he was selling this place. Dean knew that his view though had started to change ever further before that—the day that Sammy had left for collage, had left his family, which was the day that Dean started to believe that Sam was no longer his little brother too.

Dean wanted to start a new life, one that was normal and that didn't include Hunting. And the reason he knew that he would be able to, was because there were no longer any monsters left in all of America, not after the Angel Warriors of God Brigade that caused the sudden Monster debacle. Dean still didn't understand what the Hell it was or how it could happen, but there were no longer any Monsters in America—besides the occasional angry Ghost and that was no reason for Dean to stay in the 'family' business. He could go to Canada—he was sure there was a bunch of beasties up there—but he didn't want that life anymore.

Dean sat heavily on the wooden rolly-spinney chair that adorned Bobby's former desk; it was rather hard and uncomfortable, and Dean had no idea how Bobby could have sat in this hours at a time.

First he put all of the knick-knacks and papers from the desk in a box before he started on the drawers. The top drawer was locked so he cleared the ones on the sides first; they were filled with files and folder that were in turn filled with old news paper clippings about old and odd Hunts.

Dean picked the lock on the top drawer, the single tumbler falling into place before the drawer popped open. He looked inside of it with raised brow; this drawer was the neatest thing that Dean had ever seen in Bobby's house—ever. He picked up a manila envelope; it was thick and heavy, and when he curiously opened it, he pulled out a stack of photos.

He shifted through them.

Some were of places that Dean wasn't familiar with. Some were of lights in the night sky. Some where so blurry that Dean couldn't even make what the picture was, and then he came across many that were of a man.

Dean couldn't tell how tall the guy was from the photo, but what he could tell was this: He looked to be in his early thirties, with his a clean shaven face. His eyes were the color of clear sapphire-jade. His hair was the color of dark chestnut brown cut in a style an inch or so longer than Dean's. He had a handsome face and broad shoulders that went with the Captains uniform coat around his shoulders.

There were many of him, each with a different angel for his profile. In some he was alone, in others Bobby was present. Dean had never met him, but from the age that Bobby looked in these photo's he was probably only in his late twenties—Dean didn't even know Bobby when he was that age. He put the photos back in the envelope and set it in the box. There was another one, this one smaller and instead of having pictures, it had a disposable cell phone. He put it on the corner of the desk so he remembered to throw it out later. The last thing in the drawer was a folder and upon opening it he discovered a slip of paper that had the word _**TORCHWOOD**_ scrawled in block letters on it.

Dean looked down at it before crumbling the piece of paper into a ball and tossing it in the bin next to the desk. He had no idea what this nonsense was, but he did know that it was of no use to him. All of Bobby's things were no use to him, but he couldn't bring himself to throw all of what Bobby Singer was away so he had bought a storage unit where he could store all of the things in this house—minus all of the empty bottle and that slip of paper.

Dean leaned back, causing the chair to squeak loudly in protest to his weight. He blew out a long breath with puffed cheeks, and laid an arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight that shone from the open window. He felt so exhausted lately, not physically, but mentally so. He didn't know why, just that he was tired, oh-so tired.

His heart stopped for a minute as his phone rang and sat up and took it from his pocket. Dean furrowed his brows, his phone was off and Dean had taken out all of Bobby's 'government' issue phone lines, so . . .? He glance out of the corner of his eye at the cell at the corner of the desk, its screen was lit with a call. Dean slowly reached out for it, not sure if he should answer it or not. But again his curiosity got the better of him and he picked the phone up and looked at the callers screen; it read _**TW**_.

Dean looked at it confused, but flipped it open any way. "Hello . . .?"

"_You're not Bobby Singer_."

"No. Who's this?"

"_A friend_."

"And your name?"

"_Where'd you get this phone_?"

"Answer the question."

"_I want to talk to Bobby Singer_."

"Bobby Singer isn't available at the moment. Now tell me who you are."

"_You tell me who you are_."

"I asked you first."

"_Tell me where you got this phone, boy_."

"Who do you think you are?"

"_I think I'm the person that want's you to hand the phone to Bobby Singer_."

"Bobby Singer is dead! Six months ago..."

"_..._"

"Happy now?"

"_How?_"

"Liver disease,"

"_Oh_."

"..."

"_You do what he does, right_?"

"And what did Bobby do?"

"_He Hunted_."

"Not anymore."

"_Why not?"_

"Because I'm out of the game,"

"_You're never out of the game_."

"You are when there's no Monsters left to Hunt."

"_What do you mean 'none'_?"

"There are no Monsters left in America."

"_You're kidding_?"

"Why would I kid about something like that?"

"_If there aren't anymore Monsters to Hunt, then come work for me_."

"Ha! Seriously?"

"_Does it sound like I'm kidding_?"

"... I told you that I don't Hunt anymore, and I have no clue as to who you are."

"_Captain Jack Harness_."

From the photo...?

"So I have your name; that does nothing for me."

"_I can also give you a Hunt_."

"I don't—"

"_But you want to_."

"... I already told you... Plus I don't know what it is that you do anyway."

"_I Hunt Monsters just like you do_."

"..."

"_I could use the help_."

"If you need help with a Monster, fine. Tell me what your Hunting and I'll tell you how to kill it."

"_It's not as simple as that_."

"Everything's as simple as that."

"_..._"

"You must not be in that much trouble then."

"_Why are you so reluctant_?"

"Why are you so insistent?"

"_Because if you were with Bobby Singer, then that in itself means that you're good_."

"..."

"_So come and work for me_."

"There are no more Monsters in America, so how do you Hunt?"

"_That's good. That means you now have a reason to work for me_."

"You sound American..."

"_So do you_."

"But you're not in America..."

"_The UK. Cardiff to be more exact_."

"... you don't even know me."

"_And I told you that if you're with Bobby Singer_..."

"I don't fly."

"_You don't have to_—"

"I told you that I don't Hunt anymore, and that's final!"

Dean snapped the phone shut before he placed it on the desk none to gently.

"Then we'll just have to discuss it in person." a voice from the doorway piped up.

Dean pulled his gun and had it trained on the doorway in an instant. Slowly he stood up, carefully looking the man up and down. He looked exactly the same as the man that was in the pictures that Dean had found—exactly the same. And his voice was exactly the same as the man that was on the phone.

"Captain Jack Harkness, I presume." Dean raised a brow as he stayed behind the desk.

Jack smiled, not at all conflicted with the gun pointed at his heart. "The Hunter that I'm trying appropriate, correct?"

Dean didn't smile back. "I suppose you planed this."

"No." Jack said evenly. "I came here to see Bobby Singer. I did not know of his death until you told me."

"You could just tell me what you're Hunting and be on your way." Dean told him.

"It's not as simple as that." Jack said, his hands in his Captain's jacket pockets. "I want to recruit you."

"I already told you—"

Jack nodded, turning on his heel and went to the kitchen. Dean only fallowed because he had to, he watched as Jack opened the fridge and retrieved two beers. He pooped the caps off and turned around to face Dean, he took a drag off one as he handed the other to Dean. He sat at the kitchen table as he looked up at Dean. Dean didn't sit, but took a drag from his beer by reflex.

"Let's talk." the corner of Jack's lips turned upward as he watched Dean carefully.

Dean's brows furrowed slightly as he watched as Jack's appearance started to blur, the gun in his hand started to waver. "Wha...?"

Jack was out of his seat and there just in times as Dean's legs gave out and the beer bottle and gun fell to the floor. Jack looked down at Dean in his arms. "What a Pretty Boy you are."


	2. Chapter II

**CHAPTER II**

Dean was slow to awaken, but as he did his blurry vision cleared to see a place that was unfamiliar to him. He reached for the gun that he usually kept in his belt, but it wasn't there. So he reached for the next best thing, the knife in his boot.

"Jack, he's awake!" someone yelled nearby, a slight accent in his voice.

Dean sat up quickly, his knife clutched tightly in his hand as he frantically looked at his surroundings. He was in what looked to a sort of lounge area with a simple table and two-seater sofa, to the left it branched off to a small kitchen—which in itself would have been normal but to the left was quite different. through a glass wall he saw a whole bunch of computers, closed double doors with solid walls and a pair of tiled stares that lead downward to a circular room on either side of the walls, there was a spiral staircase that lead to a platform above with had many other rooms, one of which looked like an office.

He had no idea where the hell he was, but he got a clue when he spotted the man with the Captain's jacket. Behind him was a younger man—probably about Dean's twenty-five—in a suit fallowing close by.

"_You_!" Dean exclaimed, quickly getting to his feet.

"Glad you're finally up," Jack smiled at him. "I was getting worried there for a moment." he stopped just beyond the table so it was the only thing that was between him and Dean.

Dean glared at him, "What did you do? And how did I get here?" he demanded.

"I slipped something in your beer." Jack said, nonchalant.

"You drugged me!" Dean said, slightly shocked, but he didn't know why—he should have been suspicious of this guy just showing up, but he had been so secure in his choice about quitting the game that he saw no reason—and it wasn't like he was supposed to think that he was going to get drugged and man handled to another Country around every corner.

"You shouldn't sound so shocked," the young man at his shoulder said to Dean. "I'm Ianto Jones." he clarified.

"You make it sound like he does it all the time," Dean told him. Ianto averted his gaze for a moment before they focused back on Dean. Dean looked at Jack. "You drug people all the time,"

"It comes with the territory," Jack explained.

"I told you that I don't Hunt anymore," Dean ground out in frustration, clutching the hilt of his knife with force. "And what the hell did you do with my gun?" it was his favorite one after all, the one that he always carried with him.

"I think that I confiscated with good reason," he said, pointedly giving the knife in Dean's hands a look. "But clearly I wasn't thorough enough in my search—maybe next time." his eyes traveled up and down Dean's body appreciatively.

Dean's brows furrowed slightly. Did Jack just check him out? Dean shook his head, if he did than that would lead to other questions and suspicions about the body search while he was unconscious and how he really got to wherever the hell he was. So he didn't try to think about it and focused on the fact that this guy had kidnapped him.

"I can still do some damage with this, so if I were you I'd do as I say and take me back!" Dean ordered, his knife at the ready—this was no pocket knife, and the blade could do some real damage.

"I brought you here for a reason," Jack told him.

"And _I_ told you that if you just tell me the name of whatever it is that you are Hunting, then I'd tell you how to kill it!" Dean ranted in a breath.

Jack raised a brow. "And I told you that it wasn't as simple as that."

"Why not?" Dean demanded.

"Because we have off-shoot Monsters that came from America!" Jack snapped lightly.

Dean looked at him, his mouth slightly agape. "What do you mean?"

"What he means is that we have Monsters running around Cardiff which isn't unusual in itself, other than the fact that they come from the American descent." Ianto told him much more calmly than Jack.

The knife lowered as Dean looked between the two, his face pinched with confusion and concern. "That doesn't make any sense." he stated.

Jack almost gave him a 'duh' expression, but instead nodded to Ianto at his side. Ianto held up PADD that Dean didn't notice until now and tapped a few things on the screen before he held it out to Dean.

For a moment Dean didn't take it, but decided that if what they were saying was true, than him being kidnapped for the moment wasn't that big of a deal. It would need to be addressed later of course, but for now he would let the fact that he had been drugged and flown to a different country. He slid his combat knife back into his boot and took the PADD from Ianto.

There were two pictures. The one on the left was a man that was about in his late thirties, but that wasn't what had made Dean take a closer look. His pupils were ringed with red, his skin was like white chalk, and his teeth were tiny and sharp like razors. Around his eyes, mouth and his fingers tips were tinted black, almost as if they were from a decomposing body. Dean had never seen a Monster like this before and couldn't even begin to decipher what it was. The picture on the right was one he recognized well though, a Monster that he had Hunted on multiple occasions. It was vaguely shaped like a Human, but that was all it had going for it. It shoulders were wide, its were arms long, its hips were narrow and so was its legs. It was hairless and its face had no features whatsoever, its face was like a blank slate.

Dean looked up in inquiry.

"The picture on the left is a shape shifter from Cardiff, killed by the removal of its head." Ianto explained. "The other we ran into a week or so ago. We would find somebody dead with a pile of what was skin, teeth and hair next to them, then over the next few days we would get sightings and just when we think that we had almost caught it—it would change it appearance and kill some more."

"How and why do you think that this shifter is from America?" Dean knew full well that it was, but that didn't mean he couldn't get any information out of these guys for it.

"A while back I met a man who had recently lost his wife to a demon possession." Jack said, clearly talking about Bobby. "I ran with him for a while, learned a few things."

"I saw the pictures." Dean said, remembering Bobby's place and the photo's that he had found. "So what did you do with all of the things in Bobby's place that I had packed before you kidnapped me?"

"I put them in storage with the rest of the stuff, had the house cleaned and it's now ready for the buyers." Jack informed him. "Everything's been taken care of."

"Really?" Dean said with some anger.

Jack said nothing more so Dean continued.

"And if you had just told me that it was a shifter then I would have told you silver, and none of us would be in this mess." Dean told him tense shoulders.

"There have also been people with loss of blood, and missing hearts." Ianto informed him, taking the PADD back from Dean.

"And then I would tell you Vampire and Werewolf, decapitation and silver bullet to the heart." Dean looked to Jack, "See how simple that was, _Captain_?"

"It's not—" Jack started and Dean cut him off, finishing the sentence that he hated with a passion.

"_It's not that simple_!" Dean let a sneer crossed his features.

That was really starting to piss him off royally.


	3. Chapter III

**CHAPTER III**

Dean was pissed, pissed beyond belief.

He had tried many times out to get out of this place—and of what this place was, Dean was unsure. (It seemed like a facility of some sort, one with technology and one that definitely had to be funded.) He knew that there was some sort of code involved in opening the passageway and that had him stumped. Dean was allot of things, but one thing that he wasn't was computer-savvy. It's not that he wasn't technologically-retarded or something, it was just that he wasn't some super-smart-FBI-hacker-guy.

So since that was out of the question, he decided that he should do what he should have done in the first place, what he was good at. Watching. Listening. And Waiting. It was what he had grown up doing. It was what he was good at Doing. It was what he succeeded at doing! This was what he did and he didn't need a computer, he never needed a computer to do his job. He was old fashioned—you could say—so he was going to stick with it.

And as he listened, he learned. He learned that this place or establishment or whatever was called Torchwood—just like on that sheet of paper that he had thrown out, and just like the initials on the cell phone. He learned that that Harkness guy was leader of this group—and Dean said group because there wasn't just Jack and Ianto, but there were three more agents if you will. First was Owen Harper, he was the Torchwood's designated doctor—he was just like Dean; cocky, flirtatious, confident, always there to make a juvenile comment. Dean was still all of those things, but lately he just hadn't been feeling it lately, not since Bobby passed-away. Next last two were two very hot, very sexy women; both in which Dean would have no trouble sleeping with and had even tried; the operative word being _tried_. Gwen Cooper, this black haired beauty was hot yet disappointingly so, engaged. Toshiko, aka Tosh; this pretty lady was a brainy brood, and sadly in love with Owen, who as it turned out had no interest in her whatsoever. And as Dean had suspected, Jack was gay and as it turned out, so was Ianto.

Now, Dean had nothing against the gays. Had nothing against Jack or Ianto in that sense, other than them kidnapping him. But the thing that made Dean uncomfortable was the way that Jack kept looking at him and very occasionally Ianto would send him a look out of the corner of his eye—though he only really seemed to look at Jack. Dean had never been with a guy, never intended to either. In high school he didn't even "_experiment_" like others had; Dean had had no problem knowing his sexual preference, Women. And it was still women.

The other thing that he had discovered was *the Vault. It was like a prison or a section of holding cells that the Torchwood facility had in their sub-basement. Dean had never been down there, but he had heard talk and had seen some of the things that they locked up down there. There was this Beast, is what thought it should be considered instead of the Monsters that he had since Hunted before. It was like a Human, albeit hunched slightly, it had a huge rounded head and could bite you like a shark, its skin was like a reddish-brown and it had but four finger on each hand, it walk more like a gorilla and spoke in grunts and growls—and that was what a beast was in Dean's eyes. He was sure it was called a Weevil.

Dean was still thinking of an escape plan; the Torchwood base was empty for once except for himself, so he knew that now was the time to act. But as the seconds ticked by, his mind stayed blank. This was a very rare opportunity for Dean. There was always some there on base to "look after him", and usually it was Ianto. Dean actually felt sorry for the guy because he could see how much Ianto wanted to go with the others—it was just like how Dean had been eager when he was a kid to accompany his Dad on a Hunt.

But tonight Ianto did go and Dean was all alone, is there was someone here and Dean had been desperate enough, he could subdue them and force the code out of them. Though Dean wasn't that desperate yet, and it wasn't like there was anyone looking for him. After Bobby death, there was no one else to care for Dean, so no one knew that he had even been kidnapped.

The inkling of the thought of he might as well stay here was coming forward when the entrance door rolled open, and Ianto appeared with a Weevil in hand. And the Weevil looked more pissed than the ones that usually came through here. The Weevil was growling and making a fuss and though it was strong, Ianto had a good grip on it for the moment; the Weevil Spray seeming to do its job.

Dean leaned forward in his seat as he watched as the Weevil got more pissed and pissed, and it looked like Ianto was struggling to get it down to the Vault. Dean didn't know where others were, but it looked like this bastard was gonna be trouble. And he was right as the Weevil gave a jerk and roar, knocking the spray from Ianto's hand. Ianto gave a curse as the spray flew across the room and the Weevil broke free from his hold.

Dean leapt to his feet with a curse of his own and rushed forward to help Ianto. Before he could reach them, the Weevil swung its arm in an backward ark, hitting Ianto square in the chest and sent him flying into the wall next to him. Dean didn't think he just acted. He dove at the Weevil, jumping on its back. It bucked and kicked like a wild animal, but Dean held on and started to pound the side of its head where he was sure the Weevil's temple was. Trying to pound it into unconsciousness, but its skull was to thick and it did little damage besides make it more angry.

It tried to reach up for him, yank him off its back, but the way that the Weevil was built made it so that it couldn't reach behind itself like that—which was where luck was on Dean's side. The only other option that Dean could think of was to kill it, and with Ianto unconscious on the ground he was going to have no help with this; Dean just hoped that its heart was in the same place as a Humans. He pulled the knife from his boot; Jack may have taken his gun, but there was no way that Dean had let him get this—and at the moment it was good thing too. He held it in his left hand, raising it high above his head. After doing some mental calculations, he brought the knife down with as much force as he could muster on the spot where he thought the Weevil's heart would be. He was sure what with at the moving, but when the knife tip his bone and it roar in anger and pain, he shifted the knife and put more force behind it. The knife budged slightly as it found its way between the ribs, and with a little more pressed it sliced through the cartilage. The Weevil, gave a jerk and a very Human sounding keen as the knife pierced its heart.

As blood soaked into the jumpsuit's material around the wound, the Weevil grew weaker by the second. Dean didn't move, but staid on the Weevils back, holding the blade in place until it fell to it's knee's and eventually its side—Dean moving out of the way of being crushed just in time. It lay on the floor, dead. Dean looked down at it for a moment, he hadn't had time to pull his knife out so it was still stuck in the Weevils' chest cavity, but he decided to get it later as there was still the pressing matter of Ianto.

And on remembering him, Dean turned and knelt down beside him. For the moment Ianto was unconscious, the force that the Weevil had thrown his way must have caused his head to snapped back and hit the wall when his back made contact with the hard surface. Without realizing it, Dean cradled Ianto head in his lap, carefully the back of his head for any injury. There was no blood, but he did feel a slight bump. At the contact Ianto let out a slightly pained groan, his eyes fluttering open a crack.

"Wha—?" Ianto cracked out, but Dean shushed him.

"You're fine," Dean assured him in a soothing voice. He looked down at Ianto with a critical eye, watching as the light from overhead played with his pupils. They dilated perfectly in sync, so there was no worry of a concussion. "Okay," Dean let out a small sigh. "We're gonna get to the couch, and you're gonna lay down." Dean told him and Ianto nodded his understanding.

Dean helped Ianto stand, keeping an arm around his waist as the made their way to the couch incase he got dizzy. They bump was small and wasn't life threatening, but Dean wasn't go to take any chance's. Ianto sat on the couch, his head in his hands as Dean went to the adjacent kitchen. Dean found some ice and put it in a baggy before wrapping it in a tea-towel, as well as found some Advil and filled a glass of water. He gave the tablets to Ianto who swallowed them, fallowed by a few swallows of the water. He handed the glass to Dean, who set on the low table next to him. Dean handed him the ice and Ianto placed it on the small bump on the back of his head.

Again, without think about it, Dean reach forward and loosened Ianto tie. "You should lie down." Dean told him.

Ianto started to shake his head, but then Dean put on his big-brother-stern face—the one he always put on to make Sam do things when he was kid. Dean himself wasn't sure if Ianto had any brother, but knew he would recognize it as Dean being stubborn. Finally, after a reluctant sigh, Ianto conceded. The second his head hit the cushion his eyes slipped closed and Dean watched as his breathing evened out.

Dean didn't know when or why, it was as if his fingers had a mind of their own as they started to comb soothingly through Ianto silk-like hair. As Dean's fingers did that and he sat on the table in front of the couch, he glanced behind him. He saw the Weevil on the floor, the knife still sticking out of its chest and a pool of blood around it. Dean fingers paused for a second before the continued their motions as he noticed something else. The door to the Torchwood base was still open.

Ianto was asleep and they were still nowhere in sight. Now was the ideal time for him to make his escape, to finally be away from this place and these people—to get back Home. But even as he thought about it, he realized that he had no home to go back to. Bobby was dead, the Salvage Yard was already sold, all of his possessions were boxed and in storage, Dad was dead, Sam was nonexistent— he was alone, the only Winchester left.

He had planned to have a normal life though; to find an apartment, get a job as a mechanic, find a girl that he could love and possible have a kid again. But then he had gotten kidnapped and dragged to the U.K, found that even if there were no Monsters left in America, there were plenty of them here. And even though he was just tired of this, he still had a duty to fill. And the people here wanted him to stay—Jack made sure to voice that every time he got the chance—needed him to be there.

Decision made, Dean looked down at the sleeping Ianto. "Look's like I'm going to be staying at little longer, Ianto Jones."


	4. Chapter IV

**a/n: I had originally ended this fic with the third chapter, but yesterday I was board and thought that if I read a fic that ended like that, then I'd be pissed and urge the author to write more, so here it is. Enjoy.**

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER IV<strong>

It had been about half an hour since Dean had killed the Weevil and had settled Ianto down, and there was still no sign of the others. He wasn't sure what to think of this fact, though the thought that something bad had happened seemed to be a persistent scenario that kept fluttering in and out of his mind. But he knew that he was just thinking of one of the worst things that could happen because that was what he always seemed to do, no matter what—it was like a sickness. Just like the light guilt that he felt for Ianto getting hurt by the Weevil because he wasn't quick enough—had been off his game.

And that in itself was enough for Dean to get motivated and make his proper decision—even if that commitment was to a sleeping party, it was one none the less.

His fingers tired, he retracted them from Ianto's hair, knowing that it was just something to keep him occupied while his thoughts ran around. After making sure that Ianto still wasn't dead or in a coma, he stood from the table and surveyed his surroundings. As far as Dean could tell, the Weevil on the floor by the door was still dead, but he approached it with caution anyway—looking for even the slightest movement. He couldn't have the thing just being stunned and it getting the jump on him before it went after the defenceless Ianto—no way in hell.

After a little sight-seeing, he found a metal bar that was about five feet long, and used that to probe the beast.

The only movement it made was that from Dean's ministrations and he felt his shoulders relax slightly at the discovery. He definitely killed it with that blow to the heart, and he abandoned the bar for his favoured knife. It took him more effort than he had expected, but he got the knife out from the beast's chest cavity—an after flow of dark blood coming out from the wound after it, the knife acting as a plug of sorts.

Dean grimaced at the blade, the usual silver, clean curvature now covered in thick Weevil blood. He glanced back and forth from the soiled blade to the deceased beast, sending a glance behind him at Ianto at one point too. He didn't want to be insensitive or anything, but there was no one around to witness it either. Dean bit the inside of his cheek for a second before he made his decision.

"It's not like your gonna really care if your coveralls get a little more blood on them." Dean mumble, speaking about the Weevil, but saying it more to himself as he bent and wiped the blood from his blade onto the sleeve of the dead beast's coveralls.

He slipped the now clean blade back into its place in his right boot before he stood back up, wondering if he should move the beast or something. He though better of it though, mostly due to the fact that he had no idea where to hell to drag it to. So he left the beast where it was—knowing that it wasn't the best thing, but there was nothing better for him to do with it anyway—before he turned to his next order of business: the front door.

It was huge, Dean noted needlessly to himself as he looked at it; probably more reinforced than a bank vault. It was still wide open, which Dean found odd because from what he had observed, once the others had walked through it, in closed automatically behind them. So why wasn't it closing now? Did they have some sort of remote key that they press after they've passed through? From what Dean had seen, he never noticed one such device—but then again, even if he did, his eyes probably would have just passed right over it—all the technology in the place seemed to give him a headache; all of it useless to him.

He guessed that they wouldn't be in any real danger to just wait for Jack and the others to return, unless there was an attack this instant—the bar gate that came after the door was another line off defence, but Dean wasn't sure if that was electrical too. He took a moment to poke and prod it, trying to see if there was a keypad or something, but found none—not that he could see, at least. The best that he could do was shut the bar gate, and hope for the best.

The others still weren't back, not even a phone call—nothing. And this was not Dean being a freaked-out mother when her kids came back a few minutes after their curfew, or him freaking like a little kid being left alone in the new house for the first time while his parents went out—no, because he barely knew these people, and he wasn't a kid. He was Dean Winchester, Monster Hunter—not some snivelling kid who wants his mommy.

But he patted down Ianto's person anyway, careful not to touch any bits that didn't need to be touched until he found the kid's phone. He scrolled through the listed numbers, finding that the Torchwood team was foremost, Jack being the very first. He selected that and stuck to the phone to his ear, it only rang twice before the line was picked up.

_"Ianto? What's up_?" Jack answered, sounding slightly out of breath.

"Harkness—" Dean started.

_"Dean? Where's Ianto? What happened_?" he demanded in a breath.

"There was an incident with the Weevil. . ."

_"What? Where's Ianto?"_

"Ianto's fine!" Dean whispered into the mouth piece, watching carefully as Ianto shifted in his sleep at the loudness of Jack's voice coming from the ear piece. Dean moved away from the kid before he spoke again, "He just got tossed around a little."

_"And . . .?"_

"And I killed the Weevil," There was silence on the other end so Dean continued, explaining himself. "I had no other choice, Ianto was down and I didn't have one of your weird-o guns—I had to use my knife."

There was a long sigh on the other end. "_Okay, don't touch anything or do anything, we'll be back in a little while."_

And before Dean could say anything more, Jack clicked off the line and Dean found himself staring at the phone, dumb-founded for a moment before he snapped the phone shut and set it down at the table. He couldn't say that went better than he expected because he hadn't been sure of his expectation when he made that call. He sighed, and checked Ianto over before he prowled to the kitchen, in need of consuming something.

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><p>True to his word, Jack and company was back in a 'little while', which in turn came to the amount of about 45 minutes. Upon entering Jack rushed passed Dean and to Ianto's side, Owen going to other way before coming back, a medical bag in hand while Gwen and Tosh took the Weevil away—Dean was glad that he didn't know where.<p>

Seemingly as if an internal sensor told him, Ianto's eyes popped open the second Jack put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Jack?" Ianto furrowed his brows slightly, still feeling a slight beat in his brain.

"Hey," Jack said, his voice just as soft as his touch. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Ianto said, sitting up despite Jack's efforts to keep him lying down.

Jack raised a brow at that. "Owen's going to check you out anyway." he said, his tone of voice leaving no room for argument.

Dean could see Ianto fight the urge to roll his eyes, but he let Owen check him over anyway.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest as Jack stood up and turned to him. "What? You don't trust my judgement?" Dean asked. "I'm practically a doctor, just without the degree and vocabulary."

This time, Jack directed his raised brows at Dean. "Just looking for a second opinion, is all."

Dean scoffed, and he didn't bother to disguise the roll of his eyes. "Did you guys bring back any food?" he asked, slipping by Jack and into the kitchen, the Captain fallowing him. "There's only coffee in here, and who drinks coffee nowadays anyway?" he said, looking through the cupboards. "You got any alcohol in this place?" he asked, shutting the cupboard more forcefully than he knew that he should have.

Jack didn't scold him on it though. "There's no alcohol, and if you're not a coffee drinker, you will be after you taste one of Ianto's brews."

"I'm sure," Dean said, leaning against the counter-top, his arms crossed over his chest.

Dean had no idea what the hell was wrong with him, he had made his choice, he should be happy. But he was being treated like he wasn't even there or that he didn't even matter. Why did he want to stay again? Oh, yeah. Because he was alone and he had no one else—Jack had been the first person that he had actually talked to since Bobby's death. And the guy had made him feel wanted, and Dean wanted to slap himself for digging his very own chick-flick grave.

He really needed a drink now.

"You made up your mind yet?" Jack asked, his voice oddly gentle and that made Dean give him an odd look.

Jack just raised an expressive brow.

"On a trial basis," Dean informed, despite the fact that he was committed; he just wanted Jack to haggle for him.

Dean was sure that Jack knew this because he grinned broadly, showing off his pearly-whites. He clapped Dean on the shoulder with enough force to send his sideways, his enthusiasm getting the best of him. Jack spun around with flare, his coat tails flying out behind him, his boots clunking on the tile as he left the little kitchen with energy.

"Hey, everybody!" Dean heard Jack yell. "It seems that I was right; drugging and kidnapping works—we just got our sixth Torchwood team member!"

"Yeah, it seems that you did break another's spirit." Owen's dry tone floated by and Dean raised and eyebrow at that statement—his spirit wasn't broken, at least not completely—but the drugging and the kidnapping did kind of drag the decision out of him.

"Owen!" Gwen scolded, and Dean heard the doctor exclaim and figure that the woman had smacked him.

"What? I'm not lying to save's Jack's feelings."

Dean shook his head, running his fingers through his hair multiple times; what the hell had he gotten himself into?

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><p><strong>note: so this is the end of it this time, but there will be another chapter, and extra if you will.<strong>

**Please review!**


	5. Chapter V

**a/n: So this is the extra that I was talking about, it takes place in the future of the story.**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER V: The First Time That Dean Found Out That Jack Doesn't Die<strong>

Dean had been at _Torchwood 3_ for about three weeks now, and to say that he felt like a real newbie was an understatement. It was just like he was being introduced to Hunting for the first time again; but he wasn't four years old and he barely knew these people.

Sure, he got to see first hand what kind of skill that they had:

Jack, Dean knew, had a lot of shit under his belt, it was in his eyes, the same thing that Dean had in his eyes. And he had skill, Dean had to admit, was good under pressure and an amazing leader. In this kind of work, with all this crazy shit, it was good to have someone with a real head on their shoulders.

Ianto, the kid, who was a few years younger than Dean, the same age as Sam would be if he existed in Dean's eyes anymore. Dean could tell that he was still fresh, had that innocence and hesitance about him. He didn't get to go out in the field much, and Dean knew that that was some of the reason why. But Dean could also see that he was strong too, more resilient than the others thought—and the sarcasm and snark that seemed to leak from him . . . Dean was surprised that no one was screaming by now.

Owen, who for a doctor, was good with a weapon in his hands. He was athletic and knew what the hell he was doing in the field and on the table. He was a charmer, flirted like hell on fire—but had eyes for the black-haired beauty.

Gwen, said blacked haired beauty, used to be police—and Dean found it pretty hot that the woman knew how to handle a weapon. But she let her heart get in the way of things; Dean knew that you shouldn't lock that away completely, but if you let it shine it just got in the way and gets people killed.

Lastly was Toshiko, she was a total and complete computer nerd, who was also shy as hell. But shy as she may be and as quiet as she was, she knew how to use a weapon and was confident in the field.

These people, as psycho as they were and this crazy town with its Rift—a tear through time and space—they sure as hell knew how to hunt. And half the shit that Dean saw; even he couldn't believe were real, and the fact that there was other planets and crap?

But those being the most shocking things yet had turned to dust when Jack, Ianto and Dean went on a hunt, it was a thing called a Gelth-something or other. At first Dean thought it was a ghost and he had felt relief at the familiar Monster, a simple salt and burn is what it was going to be. But then his hopes came crashing down when Ianto told him what it really was.

It separated them, the smartass, Ianto going one way and Jack and Dean the other. It would have been obvious for the creature to go after Ianto, but instead it came after Dean and Jack—almost as if it were on a mission. Running did nothing of course, with creatures that were like ghosts, running didn't do a damn thing. It was like a mist and it floated about, trailing them, lapping at their heels.

Dean had no idea what the hell it was or how to take it out, Ianto never got to tell him before it targeted them, and now there wasn't time. Wind blew and the mist caught up with them, and Dean was sure that that was the one thing that you didn't want to happen. But as it turned out, it caught up with Jack and not Dean, because Dean was sure that Jack had slowed down just a smidgen—but a smidgen was all the corporal-being needed.

"Jack!" Dean yelled not knowing which instinct to take, fight-or-flight—so he was kind of just left standing there, helpless to help Jack.

The mist, which Dean now noticed was darker, like smoke from a fire and it didn't seem to have any trouble enveloping Jack's entire body. He couldn't see anything but the mist and swear he was seeing shadows swarming throughout it. There wasn't a sound and that was probably the thing that freaked Dean out the most, not peep, just yawning silence.

And as soon as it began, it was over.

The mist thinned out, before it dissipated completely—almost as if it was never there, just wanting that one kill and it was finished. But for the simple fact that Jack was left behind, he was still and just standing there, not a hairs worth of movement. Dean could tell that it was going to happen before it did, could see the slight bend of his knees and the way that he was leaning back slightly. He rushed forward, just having enough time to grip the lapels of Jack's long coat before the Captain's legs gave way.

And he was heavy as hell too, Dean fought the urge to drop him down quickly so that he didn't tumble over on top of him—something he was sure that Jack would like. But as he set Jack on the ground, Dean noticed something; Jack wasn't moving—at all. His chest was still, his lungs not expanding.

"Jack?" he called, giving the man a shake, it did nothing but cause him to rattle like a rag doll.

Dean had no idea what the Gelth did to Jack, or whether he could be brought back to life after whatever it was, but it was worth a try anyway. He title Jack's head back slightly, staring down at the pale face as his bit the inside of his cheek—Jack wouldn't remember or realize, so he was safe on the account—but he himself would remember. It didn't matter though; he would probably put his lips to Jack's a million times over if it meant that it would bring him back to life.

Dean took a deep breath, lowering his face slowly, his lips inching closer to Jack's. Just a little more and they'd be touching, he squeezed his own closed—one more inch. But it was needless because just then Jack gasped, his eyes snapping open and his head coming up—his lips meeting Dean's in a kiss.

Dean's eyes snapped open and he found himself staring into Jack sapphire-jade eyes, their faces just inches apart. Dean let out a yelp and jerked away, scrambling backwards away from the apparently alive Jack Harkness. Dean stared dumbfounded as Jack sat up with a soft grunt, and stared at him a wicked grin on his lips.

"How?" Dean said faintly, frozen to the spot for the moment.

"Your magic lips, of course." Jack said, his wicked grin being replaced by a flirtatious one.

Running footsteps approached from behind, and Ianto appeared from the shadows out of breath. "What happened?" he panted, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men on the ground.

Dean opened his mouth, but nothing came but breath, he shook his head ever so slightly; never taking his eyes from Jack.

Ianto stared at Dean for a long moment, recognizing the look. "What did you do?" he demanded, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at Jack.

Jack gave him an open mouthed look. "Why do you always assume it's me?"

"Because it always is," Ianto said.

Jack looked up at him and pouted.

Dean looked at them, his mind and instinct finally kicking in, he jumped to his feet.

"What the hell just happened?" he demanded.

"Well," Jack grunted as he got to his own feet, dusting off his long coat. "Your lips gave me life," he grinned.

"Quit joking around!" Dean growled, taking a few steps back.

"Dean," Ianto started. "It happens all the time, he's fine." he assured, sensing how tense this situation was getting, Jack's joking not helping in the least.

"Does it?" Dean nodded, his lips curling. "So what are you? A Demon?"

"Well, I do have devilish good looks." Jack charmed.

"Jack," Ianto scolded.

"Tell me what the hell you are!" Dean demanded, pulling out his gun and pointing it at Jack.

"What?" Ianto took a step forward, having no idea how the situation could have gotten so out of hand, but Jack put a hand on his chest stopping him.

"Dean," Jack said slowly.

Dean shook his head. "I shoulda' known," he whispered. "I never could catch a break, so why did I think that this was it?" and he was swearing at himself for it too, he should have checked them, made sure that they were human in the very beginning.

"I'm not a Demon, Dean." Jack said, his hands slightly raised, his voice serious. "I'm human, just like you, but with a little sugar on top."

"Magic sugar, I'm sure." Dean said in a sarcastic tone, one that could match Ianto's.

"Look, it's no big deal; when I die, I tend not to stay that way for very long." Jack shrugged his shoulders like it was no big thing, but Dean had other idea's on the matter.

"If you're human, then how? You make a deal with a Crossroads Demon? Sold your soul? A Witch?" Dean wasn't letting this go, and he was damned if he let anyone who wasn't human walk away.

"What is it with you and Demons?" Jack countered. "It's like you're obsessed."

"Not obsessed," Dean's voice was hard. "I've learned my lesson, Harkness. Now tell me what the hell you are?"

"I'm human!" Jack yelled back, now not appreciating the gun pointed at him as much anymore.

"Then how the hell are you alive?" Dean demanded, his eyes narrowing with promised threats.

"Because," Jack sighed. "Awhile ago, I met a Doctor and lets just say that something's happened and I wasn't the same again."

"What kind of Doctor?" Dean asked, his expression pinched.

"A Time Lord," Jack answered, a look in his eyes.

"What the hell's a Time Lord?"

"Someone who can control travel and control Time and Space, and has the ability to alter it if he so wishes."

"God?"

"What?" Jack laughed. "You are really hooked on that, aren't you?"

"Yes or no."

Jack fought the roll of his eyes. "No."

"And what does that make you then?"

"It makes me alive, is what it makes me."

"How?" Dean demanded.

"I'm a fixed point in Time and Space, okay?" Jack ground out. "That mean's that I don't age and I can never truly die. Forever and ever and ever, okay?"

"Fine," Dean conceded. "But you have to prove it."

"You are not shooting me, Winchester." Jack held up a threatening finger.

"I wouldn't chance it," Dean said dryly. "It's a fifty-fifty chance that you're telling the truth and that I'm crazy for even considering that you're telling the truth."

"So, what then?" Ianto asked; glad that there would be no shooting.

"Here," Dean said, pulling a knife from his boot. He tossed it towards Jack, who caught it, giving him the are-you-mad? look. "Just a little cut is all I need."

Jack stared at him for a long moment before he tugged up his sleeve, and drew the silver blade across the flesh of his arm. Blood welled from the cut and that was all, he held it out for Dean to see.

"Good," he said. "Take these." he stuck his hand in his pocket and took out two small objects, again tossing them to Jack.

Jack caught them and stared at them before looking back up a Dean. "What the hell are these?"

"Salt and Holy water,"

"Oh my god," Jack sighed, shaking his head as he tore the salt packet open and pored it into his mouth; a grimace crossing his face at the taste. Next he uncapped the miniature bottle of Holy water and drank that too; the grimace stayed on his face, but that was all. "Happy?" he demanded.

"Very," Dean reported back dryly, reluctantly lowering his gun and slipped it in the back of his jeans. "Why the hell didn't you tell me in the beginning?"

"It's not something I advertise." Jack said back, just as dryly.

"Maybe you should," Dean told him. "As a member of this team, I don't take too kindly to being held in the dark."

Jack grind at that. "So, trial basis over?"

Dean didn't say anything, just glowered at the other man—which caused Jack to grin even broader and Ianto looked between the two of them with worry.

"So no one's going to shoot anyone?" Ianto asked hopefully.

Jack and Dean looked at Ianto at the exact same time, their expression a mirror of each other. Ianto wondering how this situation turned into him as the one the others were looking at as if he were out of his mind.

Ianto held up his hand and shook his head. "No," he said emphatically. "You are not putting this on me." he pointed at each of them in turn before he spun around and disappeared into the shadows.

Dean raised a brow at Jack, who just shrugged his shoulders.

They were silent as they just stared at each other, almost like it had been in the beginning when they had first met. Dean crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed that Jack's expression was slowly turning into something else. He was suspicious now, as Jack's lips turned into a flirtatious curve—if Dean had learned anything about being with Torchwood, it was that Captain Jack Harkness screamed sex whether he wanted to or not—but was sure that he wanted to. So Dean was sure that something that he didn't want was going to go down, and of course Jack was going to be the cause, because as Ianto had stated before: It was always him.

"Um," Dean said, popping his lips as he took a slow step away.

Jack took a step forward to counter-act the space gain. "You know, speaking of advertising. . ." Jack started, his hands in his pockets. "You should advertise those lips of yours,"

Said lips were pursed into a thin line as Dean shook his head mutely, Jack getting closer with every step—Dean's eyes widened as he noted the swagger that the Captain was putting into his hips.

"No." he said simply.

"But we shared something," Jack said, a slight pout to his lips. "I think that it was called a kiss."

"We did not kiss!" Dean clenched his jaw; he was a man, and he kissed women!

"But we did."

"You were dead, so I was gonna administer CPR." he ground out as Jack stopped in front of him.

"In other words; a kiss."

"I would never purposefully kiss you in a million years, Jack Harkness." Dean growled, hating the fact that he had to look up at him.

"How about a million and one?" Jack cocked a brow.

"Don't make me shoot you," Dean threatened. "Now that I know that you won't die permanently, I don't have a problem with it."

"I always did like a little foreplay," Jack clicked his tongue.

Dean huffed out a breath. "If you don't back off, Jack," he said, a grin stretching across his lips. "Then it won't be me you'll have to worry about, but Ianto too." his eyes flickered to look over Jack's shoulder for a second.

Jack looked at Dean for a long moment, before he turned around, but only found empty space. He open his mouth, about to make a very smart remark as he turned back around, but that was empty too—he couldn't believe that he had fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book, as well as the fact that they just left him—he was a little hurt.

Dean forced the snort of laughter back, not believing that Jack had actually fallen for that. Dean's treats about shooting him had been empty, he wasn't the cold-blooded type so he couldn't just shoot him—even if Jack could come back to life. He could deal with crazy Torchwood-ness, and even the fact that Jack was human but couldn't die—but having Jack flirt and hit on him in what felt 24/7 was just exhausting—wearing him the hell down.

"Where's, Jack?" Ianto asked as Dean arrived at the Ranger. "You didn't shoot him, did you?" he asked, worried.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You would've heard it, if I shoot him."

"Right," Ianto sighed, feeling relief.

"I'm driving!" Dean announced suddenly, climbing into the driver's seat.

Ianto paused for a moment, sending a glance behind him and into the alley where Dean had come from before he went into the passenger seat—Jack was just going to have to deal with the back.

"Are you sure you should be?" Ianto asked, clicking his seat belt into place.

"What?" Dean gave him a hurt expression. "You don't trust my driving?"

"Well," Ianto started. "We're not in America anymore."

"Well," Dean said back. "Jack's probably too shocked to anyway."

Ianto sent him a confused look and Dean just grinned broadly, starting the engine as Jack finally appeared from the alley mouth.

"Come on, Jack!" Dean called through the open window. "Quit dittley-daddling."

Jack glowered at him as he silently climbed into the back.

There was a squeal of tires as Dean pulled from the curb, the wicked grin never leaving his lips.

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><p><strong>note: that was the last chapter and I hoped that you enjoyed, and I hope that you'll review too.<strong>

**I know that a Gelth is from Doctor Who and what I made it out to be in this chapter was not what it really was; the point in that is just because I needed a name for a monster, so I kinda switched the stuff about the real Gelth into something else.**

**:)**


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